Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 06] - The Noblest Frailty (15 page)

"Now was he, by God!" breathed Tyndale. "And what did you and
Leith do about that nasty little gathering?"

His eyes dancing, Devenish said with choirboy meekness,

"Do about it? Why, we enjoyed a dish of Bohea with Sanguinet,
pointed our toes in a stylish quadrille, and toddled back home with the
ladies."

"Damn you, cousin! I want the truth of it."

"So do a lot of others." Devenish grinned but shook his head
and said firmly, "No, really, Tyndale, I've told you the only part that
need concern you, and enough that you should understand why I take a
very dim view of our dandified Buck."

"I can, indeed. But—no! For Lord's sake, you cannot leave me
in this puzzle! Did you not warn the Horse Guards, the Foreign Office?"

Devenish stared at the tankard he turned slowly on the table,
and said dryly, "We did. Wheretore Leith is no longer a Colonel." He
looked up and met his cousin's incredulous stare. "True. He was—er, it
was politely suggested that he resign his commission."

"The devil!"

"Precisely. Our Monsieur Claude Sanguinet is a
very
powerful gentleman!" He glanced around again and, although there was no
other within earshot, murmured, "And you will not forget you gave me
your word?"

"Of course not. But we must keep Garvey away from Yolande."

"I mean to. But, just in case—" Devenish broke off as a groom
came in, peered through the dim room, then wandered over to their table.

"Beg pardin, sirs," he said, touching his cap respectfully.
"Be ye the gents as was wishful to look at Sir Aubrey Suffield's team,
s'arternoon?"

"Wrong gents," replied Tyndale with his pleasant smile.

His blue eyes alight with excitement, Devenish asked, "
Suffield
,
did you say? Sir Aubrey is never selling those bays of his? To whom?"

The groom shrugged. "I dunno, sir. He said the gents would be
waiting in the tap. I thought as it was you. I'd best see if I can find
my proper party." He begged their pardon again, and departed.

Afire with eagerness, Devenish jumped up. "What a bit of luck!"

Standing also, Tyndale asked, "You know this Suffield?"

"Everyone does. Except you, of course. He's a regular Top
Sawyer! A member of the Four Horse Club. Drives to an inch.No man
living is a keener judge of horseflesh. I'll wager its Lucian St. Clair
who's after those bays! I just may steal a march on him!"

Starting into the hall, they encountered Mrs. Drummond, a
leashed Socrates panting along beside her.

"Well, gentlemen," she sniffed. "And did you find poor Mr.
Garvey? Does the poor soul lie out under the sun somewhere, with a
broken head?"

"Good God!" muttered Devenish,
sotto voce
.

"He was gone out, ma'am," imparted Tyndale, accompanying the
lady to the stairs.

"One can but hope that by the time he returns, you both will
have thought better of your violent inclinations. Come,. Socrates!
Mama's little boy can manage these stairs, surely? Up we go!"

"Mama's little boy" struggled up the first step, planted his
front paws on the second, and waited. Grinning broadly, Devenish leaned
against the wall.

Ever courteous, Tyndale asked if he might be of some service.

Mrs. Drummond eyed him without appreciable gratitude. "Well,"
she said grudgingly, "perhaps you may, at that. The poor darling ate
rather too much nuncheon, I fear, and he is a trifle feeble these days."

Mindful of his earlier encounters with "darling," Tyndale
asked uneasily, "Should you wish me to carry him, ma'am?"

"No. He does not like to be taken up. He is too proud, aren't
you, my love? He only needs a helping hand, poor fellow. If you would
be so kind as to just give his little rumpty a lift up each step, he
can be spared embarrassment, and I expect we shall go on nicely."

This declaration brought tears of appreciation to Devenish's
eyes. Enjoying himself hugely, he waited. Socrates, still maintaining
his stance, turned his head and watched Tyndale's cautious approach, a
glint in his beady eyes.

Tyndale liked dogs, but this particular animal he would sooner
have shown his boot than a "helping hand." Nonetheless, Mrs. Drummond
was Yolande's aunt… He bent, therefore, and with one eye on the dog's
still sharp set of fangs, supplied the required boost. The stairs were
long and winding, and Socrates' progress was not rapid. Several
interested onlookers gathered, sniggering. Under other circumstances,
Devenish would have howled his mirth, but as it was, he clapped a hand
over his mouth and succeeded for the most part in stifling his
hilarity. Tyndale sensed that his subjugation was being observed by
appreciative eyes. He darted a mortified glance downward. As a result,
his boost was too precipitate.

"Oh!" wailed Mrs. Drummond. "You made him hurt his dear little
nose."

Socrates was less vocal. His head darted around and he gave
the hand that helped him a good nip.

Tyndale jerked his hand back and clutched it, his narrowed
eyes registering his wrath. Socrates hopped nimbly up the three
remaining stairs and stood at the top, grinning his defiance. Devenish,
wiping tears from his eyes, fled.

"Did he nip you a little?" asked Mrs. Drummond. "Oh, see
that—it is scarcely bleeding at all. If you will just twist your
handkerchief around it, I will bathe it for you. Come along, little
rascal! Much you care for all the bother your poor mama is put to!"

Ten minutes later, his injury having been bathed, sprinkled
with basilicum powder and not very neatly bandaged, Tyndale strode
along the hall, lips tight and eyes glittering with mortification. He
could only pray that he might not encounter any of those people who had
witnessed that ridiculous scene upon the stairs. The very thought made
him grind his teeth, and to add to his chagrin, despite having made a
complete cake of himself, he had not been rewarded by even a glimpse of
the delectable Yolande. Mrs. Drummond had said accusingly that her
niece was laid down upon her bed, resting, and much upset by the
actions of her cousins. And, glorying in her grievance, she had
expounded at great length on the peculiar manners and morals of today's
young people, so that by the time her ministrations were completed he
had been both irritated and eager to make his escape. He gripped his
right wrist; his hand felt bruised to the bone and smarted like the
deuce. That blasted little cur had caught him fairly. And it served him
right. It was pointless to yearn for a last sight of Yolande. She was
hopelessly beyond his reach; the sooner he accepted that fact, the less
miserable he could be. He sighed and ran lightly downstairs.

The stableyard was deserted at this drowsy hour of the
afternoon, and he crossed it briskly. In certain quarters he was
accounted quite a judge of horseflesh, and he was every bit as eager as
his cousin to see Suffield's famous team. He slowed his steps as he
entered the couch house, narrowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness.
Someone called, "Over here, sir!" and he started towards a stall where
he could discern a gentleman engaged in inspecting the teeth of a
horse. Too tall for Devenish, he thought.

A soft footfall behind him brought with it the sense of
danger, sudden and strong, and he reacted with an instinctive swing
around. He was too late. He did not feel the blow that struck him down;
rather, it seemed that the gloom was rent by a searing explosion. He
had a brief, confused thought that one of poor Whynyates' rockets had
found him…

Mr. James Garvey, resplendent in a jacket of maroon Bath
suiting and a cravat that had caused Yolande to wish that her brother
John (an aspiring dandy) might see it, frowned thoughtfully at his
empty plate. "I fear I must disagree with you, my dear lady," he said.
"Rackety, Devenish may be, but as your niece says, it does seem a
trifle odd that he and his cousin should have departed with word to
none." He looked with grave sympathy into Yolande's anxious eyes. How
very pretty she was in that misty green evening gown, and how wisely
she had chosen to wear no jewellery, allowing the eye to dwell
undistracted upon her fair skin. She was not as lovely as his adored
Lisette, of course, but very pretty indeed. And useful, for anyone
chancing to see him on his northward journey could now read nothing
more into it than that he escorted two ladies. Perfectly innocuous. And
with the threat that Devenish constituted now happily removed, he could
proceed to his destination with perfect equanimity. "You said, I
believe," he murmured, "that you last saw your cousins early in the
afternoon?"

Yolande nodded. "Soon after we returned from church. I will
own I was a trifle annoyed by—by a small disagreement, but I had not
thought they would just leave." She added worriedly, "It is so unlike
Devenish."

"Perhaps the Canadian fellow was Upset because Socrates bit
him," said Mrs. Drummond, off-handedly.

"I doubt that, Aunt Arabella. He did not seem angry when I
arrived home from church."

"Oh, that's right! I had forgot that time."

"Good heavens! Never say it happened again?"

"While you were resting, my love. I brought Mr. Tyndale, for
somehow I cannot endure to call him 'nephew,' or Craig, he seems so—so
alien
!
Where was I? Oh, yes—I fetched him up here and tended him, though it
was not a bad bite at all, and soon stopped bleeding."

"
Bleeding
! Oh, Aunt Arabella! I wish you
had not brought Socrates! He has the most horrid disposition."

At once firing up in defence of her pet, Mrs. Drummond wailed,
"How
can
you blame it on my poor doggie? If truth
be told, Mr. Tyndale brought it on himself, for had he not hurt
Socrates' little nose, the dear pet would not have bitten the clumsy
creature!"

"Craig hurt Socrates?" gasped Yolande, considerably taken
aback. "But—but, why?"

"You may well ask, though I'm sure it is all of a piece. He
is, after all, from a wild frontier, and obviously more accustomed to
deal with savages than civilized ladies and gentlemen. Only think of
how he almost brought about your own death, my dear."

"Did he, by thunder?" ejaculated Mr. Garvey, straightening in
his chair. "It would seem that you are well rid of the fellow, Miss
Drummond."

Irked, Yolande said, "It is not quite as it sounds, sir. There
was an accident, true, but Mr. Tyndale rescued me from it most
gallantly."

"Oh,
very
gallantly, I am sure!" said
Mrs. Drummond, huffily. "And not a thought for
me
,
lying senseless in a ditch! It's a wonder my neck was not broke, and
indeed I still suffer so many aches and pains that I feel sure it will
be found I have taken some grievous inner hurt!"

"Of course Craig thought of you!" Yolande flared hotly. "We
both did! I am assured he would never have left you had there not been
others to aid you, whereas I was helpless, with the team bolting as
they were. I truly am sorry you were so badly shaken, Aunt, but Craig—"

"No, no, never apologize, dear love," Mrs. Drummond inserted
in honeyed tones, but with her eyes sparkling. "Indeed, I can but
marvel at the forbearance that leads you to intercede for the crude
fellow. Under the circumstances."

Flushed with vexation, and looking, or so thought James
Garvey, exceedingly lovely, Yolande fell into the trap. "Circumstances?
What circumstances? The circumstance that having unwittingly endangered
my life, Cousin Craig proceeded very bravely to save it?"

"Why—no, dearest," purred her aunt with sublime innocence. "I
had meant simply the circumstance of your being promised to dear Alain
Devenish. And the Colonial being so obviously—however
presumptuously—enamoured of you!"

Thoroughly angered, Yolande prepared to retaliate with the
remark that since she
was
to wed Devenish and
that Craig was aware of the fact, her defence of him was as devoid of
interest as it was impartial. But she could not speak the words and,
tongue-tied, her face flaming, she knew why. Her feelings for Craig
Tyndale could, under no circumstances, be described as being devoid of
interest.

Mrs. Drummond had little use for Alain Devenish, but she was
aware that he was a peerless suitor if compared to his Canadian cousin.
Triumphant, she smiled a faint but smug smile through a brief, pregnant
pause.

Hiding amusement, Mr. Garvey reached out to place his
well-manicured fingers over Mrs. Drummond's hand, lying upon the
tablecloth. "Poor little lady," he soothed gently. "How worried your
niece must have been for your sake. And how pleased I am that you have
effected such a remarkable recovery, so that I may beg you will both
accompany me this evening. It would seem there is to be a lecture in
the Parish Hall upon the words of Lawrence and a young fellow called
Constable. I am no connoisseur of the arts, but I understand the
paintings of several local artists will also be on display, and it
might prove an entertainment to suit the sensibilities of such gentle
ladies as yourselves."

Mrs. Drummond was pleased to accept. Turning to the quiet
Yolande, Mr. Garvey gave her a surreptitious grin so full of mischief
that her disturbed heart was eased. "You are too kind to us, sir," she
protested gratefully.

He shook his head and said with perfect, if oblique, honesty,
"Miss Drummond, you cannot know what it means to me to be allowed to
keep such charming company."

"Such graciousness," sighed Mrs. Drummond, as she climbed the
stairs to prepare for the outing. "Such an air! Oh, Yolande, how it
would gladden my heart to see you wed so perfect a gentleman as Mr.
Garvey."

Yolande scarcely heard her. "I wonder," she muttered,
"wherever they can be."

Mrs. Drummond tossed her head. "If I know anything at all in
the matter," she said tartly, "they are likely carousing in some tavern
in an intoxicated condition, and will awaken with fearful headaches,
wishing themselves dead!"